When I walk the dog in the morning, it's before I've had any coffee. Sometimes, like today, I am kind of grumpy out there on the streets of my neighborhood.
But today, a white-haired gentleman probably in his eighties, with a thick Irish accent, offered his hand to Gus as we were waiting at a crosswalk. Gus immediately turned around and offered the man his hindquarters for scratching. He asked all kinds of questions about Gus — how old, what is he, where'd he come from. Then he told me a story of having a dog like Gus — scruffy, good humored, expressive eyes — and how one night, before there were telephones where he lived, the dog was acting strangely, not leaving the man's side, staying closer than usual. The next day, the man found out his brother died. The man told me he thought the dog knew something.
Then I wasn't grumpy anymore.